


Plot Bunnies of the Dragon Kind

by Zipcatnap



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Magic door- Howl style, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Bunnies - Freeform, Potentially crazy elves, story ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:25:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zipcatnap/pseuds/Zipcatnap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random ideas and snippets of ideas for Dragon Age (occasionally based off each other) that may or may not be expanded depending on my muse's reaction. Also, a test to see how this whole "posting" thing works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Other Voice

Mahanon Lavellan was distinctly not alone in his head, but he thought that perhaps no one should know that. It was, after all, not that much of a problem besides the occasional snide comments in the back of his head and a few helpful tips. The Other was mostly quiet, hardly ever louder than his own thoughts, and so this was nothing to worry about. If the Other did affect his dreams, he did not remember them. (He had never remembered his dreams before the Other came, either, which occasionally made him wonder if the Other had actually always been there.)

 

When he woke up in a prison with a volatile magic on his hand, that changed. The Other was a solid force in the back of his head, but still relatively quiet. The Other still sent sarcastic quips and bad puns Mahanon's way, however.

 

When that Thing on his hand flared in pain, Mahanon could also feel the Other. The closest thing that could describe the feeling was that the Other reached out inside of his at the first spike of pain and wrapped a hand around the magic, smothering the hurt after the first pulse. The brief, head-splitting agony was still unexpected, but Mahanon was sure if the Other had not done that then he would have fallen to his knees.

 

 **‘It’s going to kill you,’** the Other whispered in his mind as he stared at the flaring magic in his palm, not listening to the human woman speak, **‘if you don’t fix it.’**

 

The lady, which the redhead had earlier called ‘Cassandra,’ offered him a possible way to fix it: closing the giant hole in the Fade, which should stabilize the little hole on his hand. It sounded idiotic and impossible, but- **‘You never know until you try!’** the Other chirped cheerfully.

 

Frankly, Mahanon thought that the Other was crazy. But the fact the disembodied was crazy didn’t mean that the advice was wrong, so he agreed to try and hid his reluctance. A nervous Mahanon was led through a camp full of glaring, angry humans that looked like they wanted his to just keel over and die on the spot. But then the Other **-’Do you think he can actually see out of that hat? Oh, look at that- saggy pants! Ahaha!’** \- started commenting on the people’s attire and the funny faces they were making, and Mahanon felt much better. He hid his giggle in a weak cough and buried his nose under his scarf to keep his smile from being visible. He concentrated as he walked, picturing each word in his mind and what they meant, then sent it hurling at the presence in his mind: **THANK YOU**

 

The Other paused in his insults, and he knew he had been heard. Mahanon was glad for that; it was usually only a third of the times that he was heard. It was irritating to have to repeat the action of ‘talking’ to the Other over and over until he was heard.

**‘You’re welcome,’** the Other said gently, and Mahanon had a feeling that if they were both in the real world then he would have had his hair gently ruffled in a fond manner. The elf refrained from rolling his eyes, and came back to the real world in time to hear a promise of a trail and see the human woman pull a knife. **’You were much louder than usual, have you been practicing?’**

 

Mahanon thought about the feeling of negativity: **NO**

 

‘ **Oh** ,’ the Other said, sounding disappointed, while the woman cut the ropes. **‘Well, I supposed you haven’t. Do you think it has to do with the Breach and the Mark on you hand?’**

 

Mahanon raised his hand and looked down at it as he walked, listening to a human scream ‘it’s the end of the world!’ as they ran past. Behind him, Cassandra kept up with the fast pace the elf was setting despite the heavy armour the woman was wearing. **YES**

 

The Other made an agreeing sound, and Mahanon felt a bit of pride: Three for three in the conversation was a very good percentage.

 

The Other fell quiet, but still sat like a stone in the back of his head. He ignored the presence in favor of the real world again, making his way to the bridge. He listened to Cassandra with half an ear. The elf finally made it to the bridge- **‘Watch out for the meteor!’**

 

Mahanon gasped as the stone suddenly bucked under his and then crumbled, sending his falling onto the ice before. The frozen water cracked under him as he landed in a daze, gasping in pain as his ribs flared. The Other groaned in the back of his head, but for why, Mahanon could not aim to guess. He hoped his ribs had not been staved inwards by the impact. The Other reached out a hand again and smothered the pain long enough for him to stand.

 

“Stay behind me!” The Lady cried, drawing her sword. Mahanon looked up to see a horrid creature scream and lock into battle with the warrior. His poor mind stuttered to a stop, and the Other whined like an animal in pain. He didn’t notice that he imitated the sound, watching as the ice before his bubbled and smoked in an unnatural green, and a grotesque figure materialized into existence.

 

‘ **Your sling! No- that blade, there by the crate**!’ the Other screamed at him, and he dived to one side at the words, scrambling for the mentioned sword.

 

His side flared in pain and the Other clamped down on it again as he turned and raised his weapon. The stray thought of ‘ _never could do that before the_ -’ and then the Demon screamed at him and slashed out with its claws. Mahanon cried out in pain as the long nails left marks on his arm, and he lashed out in answer, swinging both blades widely. The twisted monster screamed as the metal bit into the place the neck would be. It thrashed and reached out for him, but he skittered away like a frightened doe.

 

A sword suddenly sprouted through its torso, and the feral enemy screamed in a defiant death throe as it fell and collapsed into sickly ash-filled goo. On the Other side stood Cassandra, her face grim and her sword pointed straight at Mahanon.

 

 **‘Is she serious?** ’ the Other deadpanned, and Mahanon could almost see the inevitable motion of slapping one’s face with a palm. However, due to his fear of the pointy sword poised to strike him, he couldn’t find amusement in it.

 

“Drop your weapon!” The human snarled, and Mahanon let go as if the blade burned, holding his hands against his chest. He kicked it away with his feet for good measure. The Other sighed in the back of his head and grousedly asked how he even got picked to be sent to the Conclave, ignoring the fact that they both knew the reason. (His chest hurt just thinking of it, even in this crazy situation with Other-hurting-demons and a sword at his breast and a hole in the very fabric of the sky.)

 

The woman gave him a strange look at the reaction, and Mahanon could only smile at her sheepishly. In the end, the warrior let Mahanon pick up the blade again. He was actually a bit hesitant to do so, not used to the heavy metal in his hand, but the Other quipped something he couldn’t remember as soon as it was said and he ended up keeping the blade anyway. (It’s not like he didn’t know how to use it, just that he didn’t use them often.)

 

As he somehow managed to put them away on his back without stabbing himself in the head, he became aware of the uncomfortable feeling in his side as he raised his arms overhead. Confused, he poked at the spot and got a dull throb in return. **‘Don’t touch that!’** the Other hissed, **‘It’s hard keeping it from hurting as it is!’**

 

Mahanon winced at the sharp words, remembering, now, the pain after his fall. He didn’t question how the Other was keeping it from hurting, but he made a note to make sure to get it fixed as soon as possible- it may not hurt, but the wound was obviously still there. **S-O-R-R-Y** It was hard to concentrate on the word, and he sent each letter individually. It took longer, but by the exasperated sigh he ‘heard,’ Mahanon though it worked.

 

More demons followed- and Mahanon stopped flinching with every pained noise coming from the Other after the first couple of fights, though he did not become accustomed to it by any account of the word. With every sound he grit his teeth and cursed and moved just a bit more quickly. (And didn’t have the will to question why the Other wouldn’t let him use his sling)

 

Mahanon was tired and sore in a very bad mood when he came up to the first rip in the fabric of reality, so can anyone really blame him for his actions? The demons may have made the Other whimper, but the “rift,” as the Lady called it, whispered into his mind like the Other but worse (eviler), giving him a headache. So as soon as the last of the demons were screaming, caught in the last moment of death, and someone was moving suddenly towards him, he turned towards the “rift” with a snarl.

 

“ **SHUT UP**!” He screamed at it, hearing the Other shout the same thing, and made a slashing motion with his hand. The world rippled, bucked- and suddenly the whispers in his head stopped. The rip disappeared abruptly, sewing itself up, and Mahanon and the Other sighed as one.

 

His rib throbbed in pain suddenly, unattended by the Other, and he turned pale and almost swooned. “That wasn’t a good idea,” Mahanon groaned, doubling over and holding the magic-covered hand against him. Then he laughed; “But at least it worked!”

 

“It appears that whatever magic opened the Breach was also responsible for the mark on your hand. It seems my theory was correct; you can indeed manipulate the rifts with it,” someone close-by said. Mahanon didn’t bother to look up.

 

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” the Lady said, sounding relieved.

 

“Possibly,” the first voice said, and Mahanon startled when a hand rested on his back. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

 

 **‘I think that last one was aimed at you,’** the Other helpfully supplied. Mahanon sent a muffled curse in response and wondered if straightening up was really worth it. He pressed a hand against his ribs to emphasize the point to the Other. **‘Give me a moment, you really did a number on yourself! I can’t just wave a magic staff and make it better.’**

 

“And here I thought we were going to be ass-deep in demon’s forever!” He heard a different voice say. He turned his head slightly, coming face-to-chest with a very hairy dwarf.

 

The Other let out a sound like a distorted wolf-whistle which he managed to not grin at widely. “No,” Mahanon agreed, “just for the rest of your life.”

 

The Other applauded at his comeback, a sound Mahanon didn’t even know he was capable of. He managed to straighten up slowly, feeling the pain fade away slowly, and furrowed his brow in concern. **ARE Y O U ALRI-G-HT?** he sent, worried about the reduced speed of the pain’s retreat compared to the last time. He stood all the way straight, eyeing the dwarf

 

 **‘Closing the rip took a lot out of me,’** the Other grumbled. **THAT WAS Y-O-U?** **‘What, did you think it only closed because you shouted at it?’**

 

“Varric Tethras, at your service; Rogue, Storyteller, and occasionally- unwelcome tagalong.” The dwarf winked at the Lady. Mahanon had a feeling she made a face, though he couldn't see.

 

 

The Other cackled in the back of his head in a disturbing manner: ' **Oh, this is going to be fun!** ' Mahanon couldn't help but worry, creasing his brow and managing to make the dwarf unnerved. This- was not a good start.

 


	2. I'm Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carter should not be afraid of his front door. His door was not magic. The dial next to his door did not make it magic. There is no such thing as Grey Wardens, and they are certainly not on the other side of his door. At least, that's what the psychiatrists said.

Carter’s worst enemy was a door. Not just any door, of course, but the one leading into his house. Every time there was no one at home- which was becoming more often, he realised- he tried to avoid going through the door. When he was little, he would crawl in through his bedroom window. As he became older, he would stay at a friends house until his parents were home.

 

Most people wouldn’t have a fear of a door unless they had “problems,” so his parents mostly ignored him. But whenever he was home alone, strange things happened at that door. He blamed the decorative dial on the side of the doorway. His parents kept it, saying it was ‘homely’ and ‘rustic.’ But he knew the dial was magic and dangerous. The dial stayed on the white most of the time.

 

Carter was five when he really started to be scared of the door. He was inside the house when the dial turned suddenly with a click. The pointer landed on the black section. There was the sudden sound of heavy boots coming through the door but not the windows. Carter hugged his stuffed doggy, terrified. There was a rattling knock on the door.

 

“In the name of the Grey Wardens, open the door!” A voice shouted through the door. Carter shuffled forwards warily, squeezing Cocoa to his chest.

 

“Mommy said not to open the door to strangers,” Carter called back, trying to sound brave.

 

“Open the door this instant, child!” The man shouted again. Carter shook his head nervously, before realizing the man couldn’t see him.

 

“No, you’re scary!”

 

“Please,” the man tried again, sounding different. After a second, Carter realized it was a different person. “Please, he’s hurt and needs a place to recover.”

 

Carter bit his lip and thought about it. “Well, Mommy always said I should help when people need it…” He reached up and gripped the door handle, and he heard a relieved sigh. Just before he could open the door, the dial turned to the white again.

 

In another world, a man stared blankly as the door swung open at last, revealing nothing more than an empty, dark house. His partner whimpered and leaned heavily on his shoulder. The grey Warden swallowed heavily, before dragging both of them over the threshold. Neither of them said the word ‘spirit,’ but it was heavy on their mind. The house was the only cover for miles that was in good shape, and if the spirit said they could enter then there was nothing else to do.

 

Far away (but closer than it seemed) Carter was looking out the front door in confusion. He leaned back and checked the dial- it had turned to the white when he had reached for the handle. Carter ‘hrm’ed suspiciously and gently shut the door.

 

He didn’t like the implications of that.

 

When Carter was eleven, he made his best friend in the world. Max was brave and courageous and loyal and everything Carter would want in a friend. Max was also a dog, but Carter couldn’t hold it against him. Max let him hold onto his fur when the dial changed to green one evening when his parents left him at home without a babysitter.

 

Something was moving on the other side of the door, but when Carter peeked outside there wasn’t anything there. The thing outside scraped against the door, making a horrible racket, and Carter held tightly to Max’s collar and prayed tthat the thing wouldn’t leave marks on the door.

 

The doorknob wiggled, as if something was trying to open it, but Carter had locked the door earlier when his parents left. Max crouched lower to the ground and growled threateningly, and Carter threw his arms around the dog’s neck and tried not to cry. At the menacing sound, the thing on the other side of the door paused. The doorknob went back to its proper position, slowly, as if the thing was reluctant to leave. Carter let out a sigh of relief and loosened his hold on Max.

 

Suddenly, something impacted the door and it shook on its hinges. Carter screamed in fear, and Max let out a round of barking and ran up to the door, snarling. He skidded to a stop before he hit it, and sniffed the crack under the door. He whined in confusion, pacing in front of the door, while Carter shook in place.

 

The Dial was white again.

 

When Carter was fifteen, he had gotten over his irrational fear of the “magic” door after years of pep-talks and logical explanations. The dial had not moved in ye- no, the dial had never moved. Yes, that was it. The door was not magical. He could do this, those times he thought the door was magic was just an over-active imagination of a child. He was no longer a child.

 

No one else was home besides Max, who stood by his side ever-loyal. Carter calmly turned the dial to the black with one finger, and put his hand on the handle. (And he did not take a bracing breath, really) He opened the door easily, fully in control of the situation.

 

The door did not lead to his front yard.

 

At the age of nineteen, Carter had been taking therapy ever since his parent came home to find him a broken mess on the floor, screaming about magic doors. The doctors had decided that he had had a mental crash because of the stress of bullying at school. He wanted to believe him. He really, really wanted to, because that meant he could be okay. That would mean this last test would fix entire life.

 

“Okay, Carter,” the psychologist said gently, holding a clipboard and a pen. “You just need to turn the dial to the black and open the door. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a door.”

 

Carter nodded stiffly, and manually turned the dial to the black. He gripped the handle again and prayed- this time, this time it would work. The door would work. A silver-whiskered Max whined next to him, and Carter gulped. The doctor behind him made an impatient noise and made a note, and Carter opened the door.

 

The door worked, but it didn’t work the way he wanted it to. The door opened up into a forest, or maybe a swamp. Horrified, he stepped through the door to see if his sight would change. His dog whined and followed after him. Carter wished he had really been crazy, for maybe he wouldn’t be stuck in another world.

 **  
  
** Really, did the psychologist have to scream and slam the door **after** Carter had stepped through?


End file.
